Excerpt

I first met the remarkable Frank Shook after a public lecture I gave at the Angelico auditorium of Dominican College in San Rafael, California. It was a damp, spring-like February day in 1992. I spoke on my popular science book The Fourth Dimension to an audience of perhaps two hundred. Three or four people approached me after my talk for autographs or simply to say that they liked my books. After my fans had finished with me, one person remained, a smiling man about my age and height, but much thinner. For whatever reason, I immediately pegged him as an eccentric. He had medium-length brown hair and was clean-shaven. His eyes were alert behind his black-rimmed spectacles. His tone was enthusiastic and confiding, as if we were old friends.

"I've underlined a lot of things in your book The Fourth Dimension," he began, not bothering to introduce himself. "It's material I've had occasion to think about pretty deeply. The thing is—" He essayed a brief, direct glance into my eyes. "I have, um, a lot of technical information. I'm having trouble putting it into words."

"Do you mean you want to write a book?" I asked him. Over the years I've been approached by any number of fringe-science devotees, and they can be very persistent. It's not unusual for them to expect me to help them in getting published. Some have even asked me to help them write. My interlocutor's next sentence confirmed my expectations.

"I need to get rid of the information, get it out of me, and I thought maybe you could help me process it."

"I'm not clear on what kind of information you mean."

"Well…it's about some unusual experiences I've had relating to space and time. I've been encountering another order of reality."

For all I knew, this man's notion of another order of reality consisted of studying astrology. Or taking drugs.

"Tell me something specific," I challenged him. His smile faded and he looked uneasily around the big empty hall, as if afraid of being overheard. But everyone else had left, except for my hosts at the other end of the auditorium, now busy turning things off. Still the man hesitated, and I began to wonder if he actually had anything to say. "While we're talking, let's head towards the exit back there," I suggested. "They have to close this place up."

We stepped down off the dais and headed down the aisle together. "I'm not sure they want me to be talking with you at all, Rudy," the man finally said. "But okay, here's a hint. What I want to tell you involves three-dimensional time."

"All right!" I exclaimed. I'm predisposed to like any theory about how time might be different. Linear one-dimensional time is a drearily familiar past/present/future death-trap I've always longed to escape.

Seeing my interest, the man's smile returned. "I thought that would get you going!"

"So what's your name?" I asked him.

"Frank Shook."

Just then somebody did something that made the auditorium public address system begin giving off a shrill drone of feedback. The grainy squealing disturbed Frank Shook inordinately. He waved his hands back and forth in a frightened all-bets-are-off kind of gesture—then whirled and ran out through a nearby side exit. I followed him outside, only to see his lean form striding off through the dusk and the gentle rain. Apparently he'd decided that "they" didn't want him to talk with me—whoever they were.